It is Leon who intervenes on Sherry's behalf when the smoke clears and the death of Both Simmons and President Benford place her role as an agent for the DSO in question. As a senior member of security operations and arguably (do not ask Rhonda in commerce, Joann from development, Tracy from urban housing or Lisa from the energy department - they have a unfoundedly harsh opinion on Leon's 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺) the most trusted agent on staff, he holds particular sway as the new administration and acting commander in chief sweep into office and suggest putting Sherry Birkin back onto a blacklist that would see her further detained and assessed, despite the completion of her first mission to obtain Jake's Mueller's antibodies - her relation to Simmons appearing to be the most damning tie (more so than G).
The briefing room is one used for matters of state both domestic and foreign, and as such has a haunty air that reminds Leon vaguely of rooms he's visited before: Greco-Roman busts, knock off paintings down a line that give the macabre grimaces of a Bosch or Memling, high ceilings and thick cold air and colder, polished marble floors. He twists uncomfortably in his seat, wearing a tight grey Valentino piece that Hunnigan had helped him special-order for the occasion. "𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥," she always said (to which he'd scoff and ask when he 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 look good just to watch the inflections on her face twitch between a long battled flirtation and annoyance). His normal suits were cheap, things to climb into helicopters wearing, pieces that fit well enough for the entourage in the standard blacked-out government SUV, but that ultimately were shred, trash, replace, repeat. Hands on Kennedy, 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘑𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 (comparatively to the other agents). The missions asked of him were not the missions typically given to agents who'd risen within academia or degree or pet favoritism to family and friend - he got the dirty stuff. Part of the collar around his neck, part of why he was sitting here, now. Valentino was not the norm - though Hunnigan sometimes joked after money he must be saving by shopping at big bargain stores and sleeping in - what were her words - '𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵'. He exhales, waiting on committee members to argue typed repose amongst themselves. What did it matter.
Leon had been debriefed upon arrival back to the mainland, and had immediately used his own clearances to inquire about Sherry - he had tried to do the same for years prior but due to Simmons joint guardianship and role in the DSO Leon had hit brick walls, being assured only that she was "safe". Claire, too, had offered less as the years rolled on and she found his growing apathy, depression, alcohol abuse and what had she called it - 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 too distasteful to keep up a solid friendship - it had been Hunnigan who had told Leon about Sherry's introduction into the agency. The news had filled him with trepidation - his own service to the US government had been bought with blackmail and coercion, and he had spent sleepless nights wondering, after Hunnigan's disclosure, if he had not afforded Sherry anything in his own sacrifice all those years ago when he had traded his freedom for her safety. If she had ended up walking the same road as himself, robbed of a chance to choose her own path, pupeteered. And while he knew Claire was an active part of Sherry's life, Claire could never understand the leash that was tied to both of their necks. In that respect Sherry and he had remained intimately alone, but together.
Whatever leverage he had had left after being cleared by the initial oversight committee (along with Helena), he pours today into the discourse of Sherry's future at the DSO - acting as pledge to her character, to her work as an agent on site during the Antibody retrieval, and to the role she had thus played in saving the world. No small task, though in this warped reality they share you could save the world a hundred times and it was never any better off. Never any safer than just moments before on the edge of a razor.
Sherry sits at the end of the table with the acting DSO secretary and several new, hurriedly placed board members - most of Simmons' crew had been quietly yet quickly stamped out of their titles (deserving or not). That was the bitch of government work though, wasn't it? A corpse too bloated to know people individually, you came in with an administration, you left with an administration. The turnaround at least provided there wasn't time enough for major corruption (usually - 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 giant fuckfest notwithstanding). Leon alone with Hunnigan had weathered several presidents and their cabinets with varying agenda - 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, the two of them, he would sometimes remark to her when he was six beers in at some bar, in some town, and called her in the late hours of the night looking for some humanity on the other end of the line. What a life, to be 35 with no family or friends, loaded & clutching a phone with 3% battery, calling your operation's manager who had her dirty Anais Nin novella in lap and a head full of heatless curlers - screaming about the time and not even letting you finish a pervy quip before hanging up. But, he supposes, he's not the only lonely heart in the club - Lucy in the sky down at table's end, looking back at him with an expression he can't read. He offers a smile (much like Valentino it doesn't suit him much these days, but here he is 𝘪𝘯 the suit and 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 the smile, watching her watch him).
What a pretty woman she'd grown into, and though his two days playing at dad in that hotel with Claire after Raccoon couldn't take all the credit - he felt a pride so tremendous that it almost brought him to tears. She's wearing a dress - Sherry in a dress reminds Leon of the Sherry who got wrangled into a little prep skirt combo twelve years ago by her mother before the world went to hell and her entire family got a pink slip on their work and their lives - existing now to Sherry as just a token photo in frame in the heart locket around her neck. Or he imagines that's what in there - he's been looking at the locket for the better part of the hearing, it catches the white dead lights of the room in a striking manner further entrancing him with the tiny nervous gestures Sherry makes, fondling it with her small hands and showing glimpses of a dainty manicure.
He hasn't gotten to look at her, really look at her, in fifteen years. Is it G that keeps her in a suspended state of childhood quirk or Leon's own undying affections, he couldn't say - couldn't 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 the latter, either. He was criminally casual with letting people go (Hunnigan had pointed out he'd jilted a few too many female agents and was starting to get a bad reputation but Leon only counts Rhonda in commerce, Joan from development, Tracy from urban developments and Lisa from the energy department). There is almost nothing that Leon Kennedy can't walk away from or stand going without. But there are ghosts that haunt, and Sherry had always been one of them. The idea of his own innocence is deeply ingrained in 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 versus 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, and an almost psychotic break he perceives in the two. It means he will never stop cherishing the past - he wears it in many invisible lockets, just as faded at the silver one around Sherry's neck - she has her own ghostly shackle there, too. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 with his missed opportunities and half lived life and all the loss he's failed to prevent.
He looks away from Sherry.
He can only hope this is what she 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 wants - to be allowed to fight an insurmountable, never won fight rather than returning to labs and confinements. In her he sees himself, and he mourns it. The threat they fight will outlive them, destined to die for the cause but never realizing it's purpose. In youth it is easier to deny - to keep optimism alive, but as he has aged Leon has quieted the realizations with all his current 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴 (Claire's chiding expressions come to mind). The stubble on his face goes longer without a shave with every successful mission that doesn't put an end to the madness. Between missions he wakes in strange cities with strange women and washes away the taste of whiskey with another shot. He falls into quiet discourse with his demons more frequently ; his sarcastic humor has died in his throat (maybe just the humor). Even now he could spiral into some dark place but Sherry tilts her head at him quizzically, flaxen hair brushing the top of her bare shoulders and the sterling heart rests over her actual heart. Leon could be some god forsaken thing born out of virus and boon with the way he can find the thump pulse in her carotid artery (an old CIA hack for on spot lie detection) and follow the steady rhythm up her throat, the twitch of her mouth as she bites her bottom lip. 𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭..
Helena pinches his leg covertly to refocus Leon to the bureaucratic matters at hand (like sound from far away, brought back into sharp focus as Leon sits up and looks back toward the secretaries of staff and the Valentino suit digs into his crotch so tightly that he hopes the money of couture goes into strong stitching).𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥? He sometimes considers it a blessing that his body works independently to this mind - it was a maze of dark hallways in there but he could fuck his way out of any situation, if solutions to problems ever came that easy (they did not).
The council convenes and chairs scrape backward and Sherry Birkin is granted immunity from further probing - Leon stands with the group, shaking hands and thanking the many powers that be while in turn receiving thanks for his years of service to them - as if he'd had a choice. They've conceded a want to Leon in his long career of wanting and asking for almost nothing - (and expecting even less) and that means he has dug himself one request deeper in their hold over him. Sherry is a 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 and he is a 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 and it's a game they've played for more than a decade so it's a trivial trade off to him, no skin off his back, so to say. In the way he's most heroic is the way most unknown to others - it started with his recruitment but has trickled down to the line most soldiers of fortune face - no one can really know them at their best as it's cast in shadow and secrecy. The bitterness and joy of the moment mix, as they always do for Leon, but a secretary to the secretary - an attractive brunette in her 30s - goes out of her way to shake his hand with the others and leaves behind a small piece of paper in his palm. Hunnigan makes a noise and Leon stuffs it into his pocket with a boyish grin that only comes out to play when the girls want to (he imagines Luis is watching him from some heavenly body, gleeful that Leon is getting enough action for the both of them at least). Hunnigan, however, tires of her defensive clashes with HR and fishes the paper out and uses the same angry hand to guide Leon through the throng toward Sherry as if to constantly say 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥.
"We sleep easier knowing you will be our top agent on the next assignment," the secretary offers to Leon as way of promise for a payment pending. The collar tightens one more notch, and Leon nods in requisite under leash and chain.
"And Miss Burkin-" the group of them stand together now in a small circle, Sherry with her hands grasped together in front of her, trying to look as innocent and trustworthy and at attention as possible (Leon likes this purple dress she's wearing, it's a lilac that makes her hair look frosty under the harsh lights and of things robbed from him over the years the guardianship he and Claire had applied for fifteen years ago (and been miserably rejected from) might have seen him buying these sorts of little dresses for her himself. He has a swell of emotion and wants to reach across the divide and pull a tiny hair off of the material and straighten the locket but he cuts his eyes away, back toward the DSO secretary (he can feel Hunnigan screaming at him with her gaze and he's going to get 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 a goddamn lecture about that phone number).
"Because the entire department is under a mass restructure, and because Mr. Kennedy has spoken so highly of you today and has the pleasure of being one of our most fixed agents - it is the department's wish that you work alongside him on any upcoming missions until we have your role and a permanent partner assigned."
Sherry bubbles 𝘺𝘦𝘴 quickly and so his answer is hers and he nods, again, in requisite. Hunnigans hand on his back is a claw at this point and he grimaces over his poor Valentino suit getting wrinkled. He is relieved to see her happy. Happy to be free (it's relative), happy to be following in Leon's footsteps, Happy to 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 Leon. His reputation amongst even male agents had extended so far as to possibly be a 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦.
It doesn't strike him as odd that it isn't Claire or her mother and father that Sherry had run after her whole life, he doesn't even think of it, oblivious dear that he is. Doesn't know that she had turned down multiple offers from Claire and even an agreeable attitude from Simmons to follow in the volunteer relief efforts that Claire had devoted her life to. That there was never any great desire to retire away to a lab like the Birkin's of yore. Leon has not even considered that Sherry has stood her whole life looking up into Leon's Shadow, growing in it, modelling herself from some memory of him that was a knight from a storybook.
She looks at him with bright eyes and clutches the little locket around her neck momentarily before saluting the DSO secretary.
"Sherry Birkin and Leon Kennedy, reporting for duty sir!" It's corny but the group does try to smile in response to her enthusiasm as the DSO takes its leave. She laughs nervously and lowers her hand, giving a sheepish shrug and looking at Hunnigan. "So I'll report to you too, just like Leon?" she asks, before oooing at one of Hunnigans earrings and leaning in for such a close inspection that she brushes Leon and wobbles a little off balance. Leon gently touches her arm, trying to lend her steady support. His thumb traces circles against her skin in a way he imagines is comforting. Sherry's eyes drift off of the gold earring and down to Leon's hand. Her lips part slightly. Her pulse races and he watches it 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 - not so much faster than his own.
"Oh these? I got them on the Nordstrom clearance rack on 57th," Hunnigan drolls, seeming delighted to have someone inquire. "And they have got the cutest pantsuits there, I always tell Leon 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵..." Hunnigans voice recedes like a train whistle while Leon traces circles against Sherry's arm, matching her breath's rhythm. She doesn't need to say thankyou to him for today, though she will. There was a reunion to be had between Sherry and Leon, certainly, since their brief encounter in China and this cold boardroom had been ill equipped to handle the 15 years between them, but now was certainly not the time. Leon wants to pull her into his lap, he wants to chide her about this haircut, he wants to ask if Jake had been a gentleman, he wants to know her shoe size, her gun model, if she'd gotten any of the letters he had written over the years (some of them were smeared with blood and tears but always addressed to 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘊/𝘖 𝘋𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘬 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴. Where did she get this dress and what is this color 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥. His moods shift attention like a dog - he can run the gambit in under a minute with the right lighting or the right girl or the right memory.
At some point Hunnigan had pulled out her phone to show Sherry the mapquest directions for Nordstrom and Leon fights the urge to tuck a loose hair behind his girl's ear. His hand lingers on her arm, feeling a great urge to grip it harder and snap her attention back to him but fully aware of how small she feels under his touch. He thinks of the petite bulletproof vest he was going to have to find for her at his local supply store. "𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘌𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘦.."
Hunnigan starts to make expressive gestures and Leon vaguely wonders how in detail a conversation about earrings can go. He reaches over but instead of hair he picks up Sherry's locket - it isn't very secure, it's a magnetized clasp that opens easily with a flick of Leon's finger and it's a quick little move that happens in tandem to Sherry looking down to see what he's doing. It's so goddamn intimate of him that she freezes as he focuses on the contents, not Mrs. and Mr. Birkin in white labcoats or with a goofy looking golden retriever in some grassy field as he'd imagined but a young RPD officer, a little photo crumbling with age that looked cut into the shape of a locket's heart from an old ID photo. And here he'd thought he dropped that old locker badge in a sewer fifteen years ago to rot with the corpses and then burn out in the fire.
Sherry gasps a little as if coming out of a trance and snatches the locket out of Leon's hand, Hunnigan still lost in 24 Karat plating vs gold vermeil finishes while she scrolls for a photo she has saved. Leon's hand, shaking a little, hangs in their air for a moment before it drops, along with Sherry's eyes to the tile floor.